


Long Away

by marielleheller



Category: Dear Sidewalk (2013)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I KNOW HE CAN!, i KNOW joseph francis mazzello the third can cry!, i wrote this and gardner cries a lot and it was therapeutic, like gardner has SUCH a wild backstory and he barely talks about it, on command probably, so anyway yeah, this was literally just inspired by how angry i got watching dear sidewalk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-02-09 16:25:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18641764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marielleheller/pseuds/marielleheller
Summary: After recently watching Dear Sidewalk, I decided to delve a bit deeper into Gardner's backstory of his parents leaving when he was younger. This is the result!





	Long Away

**Author's Note:**

> hi everyone! I wrote this really just as a way to kind of work out my own feelings and disappointment in the film glossing over Gardner's parents the way it does, so this is just my take on what happens. I hope everyone enjoys! I worked very hard on it. perhaps too hard, considering the Dear Sidewalk fandom has like 2 other fics. but hey, Joe Mazzello. maybe that'll get you guys interested. we will see! thank you so much for reading!

                Gardner’s 15 when it happens. It’s a pretty ordinary day, a Friday. School’s the same as always, and Gardner pretty much just goes through the motions, going from class to class, taking notes, chatting with Calvin during their lunch period. It’s all just incredibly mundane, no indication of what’s to come. Which is a _lot._

Gardner’s walk home is also the same as normal. Calvin accompanies him most of the way, until they reach the corner of his street, where Calvin turns left while Gardner continues straight. He spots a mailman across the street as he makes his way through the neighbourhood, and he cheerfully waves to him. Gardner’s been thinking about it a lot lately, and he’s started to contemplate becoming a mailman himself. He enjoys walking through the neighbourhoods—especially on days like today, when the sun shines down on him brightly, warming the sidewalks and brightening his surroundings—as well as interacting with his neighbours. He thinks it’d really be nice.

                Gardner reaches his house, a tiny split-level with gray siding and a little garden surrounding it. The flowers are just starting to bloom in the increasingly warm weather, and a few of them display bright petals as he passes them on the way inside.

                In contrast with outside, the inside of the house is incredibly dark. All of the curtains have been drawn, casting the whole house in shadows. Gardner drops his backpack on the floor by the kitchen table and flicks the light on.

                Except, there’s no kitchen table. It’s gone. In fact, all of the furniture is gone.

                “What the…?” Gardner carefully moves through the room—not that there’s much in the way of his movements now—examining his surroundings. The entire room is empty, not a single sign of the life that had previously filled the home. Everything had been here just this morning when Gardner had left for school. Now the kitchen is empty, and it echoes with the sounds of his footsteps, heavier and louder in the abandoned space.   

                “Okay…” Gardner says. He’s a little bit weirded out, but not overly worried. Maybe his parents had been intending to paint and just forgot to tell him? Or else, it is completely possible he just forgot. Sometimes he gets distracted. It’s probably nothing.

                For a moment he does wonder where his parents are. If they moved all this stuff, they definitely didn’t go to work this morning. But then he figures they’ve probably just gone out to get the paint, and the moment passes.

                Gardner picks his bag back up and carries it up the stairs to his bedroom. When he opens the door, he is a little bit relieved to find everything exactly the same as he left it. Everything’s completely fine. Nothing to worry about. He sits down at his desk and starts on his homework, working for about an hour before he decides he wants a snack.

                The fridge and oven have been removed, but Gardner figures there’s definitely still food in the cupboards. He’s thinking about the crackers his mom always buys, round ones with a garlic flavouring, and he’s excited to have a few when he opens the cupboard and finds it empty.

                “Oh.” Emptying the cupboards just to paint definitely seems like overkill, but alright. Maybe it’s not even painting. Maybe it’s something else. Of course, if Gardner’s parents were doing a complete kitchen overhaul, certainly he’d remember something about it, right?

                Gardner moves into the hall and opens the pantry door. Again, completely empty. And now he’s starting to get worried. He quickly moves into the living room, testing out a hunch, trying to quell the sinking feeling in his stomach. Certainly there’s an explanation for all of this. He just needs to stay calm until he figures it out.

                Gardner enters the living room. It’s dark, and he can’t see the lamp—which is not a good sign, he’ll admit—so he carefully makes his way to the window and pulls the blinds open. The room is empty. Well, not _entirely_ empty. There are still pictures of him on the walls, Gardner through the ages. But somehow, this is a not a comforting detail. Everything disappearing from the house except for traces of him is not exactly comforting. It’s ominous.

                “Definitely not a great sign,” Gardner mutters. He leaves the living room and heads back up stairs, throwing open doors and starting to examine the rooms. Bathroom: empty. Guest room: just a bedframe and a mirror left behind. Master bedroom: heart-wrenchingly empty. He crosses the room in quick, somewhat frantic strides and pulls the closet door open. There’s a lone hanger lying on the floor, but that’s about it. Gardner feels his heart miss a beat. For a moment it struggles to regain its rhythm, and he feels like he’s going to die. Eventually it evens back out, but part of that feeling remains.

                Gardner stands there for a long moment, just staring at that stupid hanger. He feels like his legs are about to give out. But he’s not done, so after a moment he manages to gather his strength and returns to the hallway. He throws the hall closet open for good measure, but he’s not shocked by what he sees. Empty.

                He’s not exactly sure what he has to gain from doing this, but he storms down the basement anyway, just to see. No surprise, it’s empty. On shaking legs he makes his way back upstairs and is relieved to make it to one of the few pieces of furniture left—his bed—before he completely collapses.

                Gardner tries to think of reasonable explanations. He’s wracking his brain, trying to come up with something— _anything—_ that could possibly explain what’s going on. Why his parents would take every piece of furniture from the house except for his things. It has to mean _something_. There has to be a reasonable explanation. Unless—

                Unless they’ve just run off without him.

                He’s trying to stay calm, trying to cling to the rational possibilities that don’t involve a heart-breaking conclusion—as basically non-existent as they are. He thinks back to this morning. He ate breakfast at the table, as he always did, while his parents got ready around him. They _were_ preparing for work, he recalls, and the memory feels like a stab to the heart. But what’s worse is what came moments after. He remembers finishing his cereal, quickly brushing his teeth, and as he passed his mom on the way back downstairs, she stopped him, giving him a kiss on the cheek and saying “I love you, Gardner”. He remembers how he had replied that he loved her too. Certainly a woman who was planning on leaving him wouldn’t have stopped to say “I love you”. Would she have? It seems a bit needlessly cruel.

                _People lie_ , says a nagging voice in the back of his head. _Maybe she would’ve_.

                Tears start to form in Gardner’s eyes, his breathing becoming a bit more choked. Maybe they _didn’t_ love him. And that’s why they’re gone. That’s why they took all their stuff and left his, even going so far as to make a point of leaving behind the pictures of him, memories of the son they left behind.

                “No,” Gardner says. “No, that’s ridiculous. There has to be a reason.” He felt like maybe vocalizing these thoughts would make them feel more true, but that feeling disappears the second he tries it out. And now he’s started to cry, and he feels like he can’t stop it. He can _never_ stop it. So, he just gives in, letting his fears wash over him as the tears start to fall from his eyes, landing on the comforter in dark wet spots.

                His parents have left him. For whatever reason, they have decided that they no longer want to live with their son. They’ve left, they’ve taken all their stuff, and they’ve left him behind. Everything else was _important_ enough to take, but he’s left behind. Forgotten, just like that damn clothes hanger. Unwanted, unneeded, unloved. He tries to think of _why_ this is happening. What he possibly could’ve done to provoke this. It makes him cry even more to try to come up with an action of his that would lead his parents to literally _run off without him,_ but honestly, he has nothing. Parents are meant to love their children unconditionally, aren’t they? Maybe they’ve just never loved him, and they’re just finally doing something about it.

                Gardner cries for what feels like hours. When he finally calms himself down a bit—taking deep breaths and clutching a pillow to his chest for support—his throat feels like it’s actually been scraped from the inside, an awful raw sensation that leaves him with pain when he swallows. When he looks in the mirror, his eyes are red and swollen, the area under them shockingly puffy. The tip of his nose is bright red, but the rest of his face is shockingly pale. He looks a bit like he’s dying, or at least suffering under incredibly severe allergies. He eyes linger on his face for just a bit too long and suddenly he’s crying again, and it takes at least half an hour to get back to a calm-ish state. After that, he avoids looking in the mirror, turning to face the other way on his bed.

                 When his breathing is steady and he’s found some tissues in his backpack to wipe his face, Gardner carefully composes himself, sitting up in bed and looking around the room, trying to formulate a game plan. It’s about 7, the sky outside just starting to darken, so he figures he needs to act soon before it gets too late. His stomach growls a bit, and he remembers that he never did have a snack, hasn’t eaten since maybe 11:30. At the same time he truly can’t imagine putting anything in his stomach without wanting to immediately throw it back up.

                A surge of anger suddenly flares up inside of him nonetheless. It wasn’t bad enough that his parents would just disappear, they couldn’t even leave him some food? He’s 15, he has no job, no money of his own, no way to support himself, and they would just leave him alone in this goddamn house without even some _crackers_ to get by?

                Gardner gets up and paces the room, the anger flowing through him. He spent 15 years thinking his parents loved him and they left without a warning, and they couldn’t even be bothered to leave him some fucking crackers or… _something_. _Anything_. Admittedly he still has his bed, and his clothes, but that’s not exactly going to keep him from starving, and eventually he’s going to have to leave this house because he has no money, and even if— _if—_ his parents counted on someone taking him in they still left him alone, and—

                Gardner catches his eye in the mirror. He looks crazed. His face is no longer pale, but bright red, flushed to match his nose. His hair is messed up, fluffy on one side and flat on the other, and his eyes are _burning_ with anger. Without even thinking about it, he lets his fist fly across the room. It makes contact with the glass and his reflection shatters, tiny shards flying everywhere, one even scraping across his cheek.

                Gardner feels the pain dully, almost as if he’s feeling it from afar, like he’s not quite connected to his body. He’s still angry, and now the adrenaline is pumping, and he thrusts his fist into the same spot again. Without the glass it just comes up against the mirror-backing unimpressively. He punches it again, and again, except that now his anger is fading a little bit, and the pain is taking over instead. He brings his fist up to examine it. Blood gushes from the cuts where his knuckles made impact with the glass, spilling onto the floor, and his feet—and the shards of glass around his feet that he’s going to need to watch out for—where it soaks into his socks.

                Gardner carefully moves to grab the last of his tissues, trying to sop up as much blood as he can. He’s already starting to regret doing that, but it’s just that this whole situation has him so out of control, and the realization of _that_ is making him angry again—or maybe ready to cry, or maybe both, he isn’t sure—and the whole thing is just one big emotional loop that he will never free himself from, so he may as well just sit here for the rest of his life and cry and punch things and cry because that’s all he’s ever going to want to do again.

                The tissues aren’t doing a thing to stop the bleeding, simply disintegrating into nothing with incredible speed. Since there’s about a 0 percent chance there’s any paper towel or napkins left in the house, Gardner decides that he really only has one choice, and he yanks his dresser drawer open, looking for an old article of clothing. He finds a blue t-shirt that he no longer wears and uses it to wipe at the trickle of blood he feels pouring down his face before tightly tying it around his hand. Then he lays back down on his bed. He notices his backpack sitting on the floor, a few broken bits of glass on top of it. He wonders if he should grab it and do something, maybe shove a few things into it like a change of clothes and go figure out what he’s going to do? He could always go see Calvin, he supposes, though he _hates_ the idea of being a burden on Cal’s parents, hates sticking them with the responsibility of taking care of him just because his own parents couldn’t do it. The Bensons don’t deserve that.

                Still, Gardner thinks, as he rolls onto his back and stretches his legs out, it’s really his only option. Other than staying here, of course, which really isn’t much of an option at all. At the very least, they might know what he needs to do.

                Gardner stares up at the ceiling and lets out a yawn. Yeah, he should probably just go do that, before it gets too late. The sky’s already darkened quite a bit since the last time he checked. But his mattress is comfortable, and between the crying and the punching and the loss of blood and the not eating, Gardner can’t help but feel a bit sleepy, all the adrenaline and emotion drained out of his body, leaving him drowsy. Still, he’s going to get up. He _has_ to get up. Any moment now, he’s going to…

 

                When Gardner wakes up, it is now _fully_ dark out, only the moon shining in through the window, casting a small patch of white light that slides over his stomach. For a moment he feels peaceful, the events of earlier that day forgotten. But then it all slams back into him and he groans with the memory. For a moment he wonders if maybe it was all just a vivid dream, but the way his right hand aches confirms that this nightmare is in fact his real life.

                Gardner rolls over onto his side, where the bedside clock says 10:30. _Shit_. So much for leaving before it got too late and being as little of a burden as possible. Still, he has to admit that he does feel a bit better after his nap. His head aches a little bit but his emotions have kind of evened out, at least.

                Gardner gets up fairly quickly, resolving that if he can leave soon, it still won’t be _too_ late. Apparently he moves too quickly, though, because he almost collapses the moment he stands up, feeling incredibly light-headed, his vision spotty. “Right,” Gardner mutters to himself as his vision slowly reforms. The combination of blood loss and not eating is definitely not a good thing. But at this point there’s nothing he can do to fix it but make the journey to the Bensons’. And hope that if he happens to pass out along the way, someone will at least find him and take him to the hospital.

                Gardner makes his way slowly across the room, turning the light on as he nears the remains of the mirror. He carefully walks through the shards of glass and reaches his backpack without feeling anything stab into his foot, which he takes as a good sign. His socks offer some padding, at least.

                After Gardner grabs his bag he considers adding in the homework he started on earlier, which lies on his desk under the former mirror, but it’s covered in spots of blood and he figures if there was ever a situation that homework could be excused, it would probably be this. Instead, he carefully makes his way back to the other side of the room and quickly shoves in a few shirts, some underwear, and a pair of pants. That’s all he really needs right now. Anything else he needs he can come back for later.

                His hand has started to throb with pain and he carefully unwraps it. It’s stopped bleeding, for the most part, but the skin is red and raw, with a few strips of skin still clinging on. Gardner resists the urge to pick at them and wraps the shirt back around his hand. Shrugging on his backpack, Gardner makes his way out of the room, brushing the soles of his feet to make sure there are no bits of glass stuck to his socks.

                Gardner stops in the kitchen as heads outside. His throat is still feeling raw from earlier, and he figures it’s the least he can do for his body to actually drink something. He looks around for anything he can use for some water, but all the cups in the house are gone, of course. He thinks back to if there’s anything in his room, but he’s pretty sure there isn’t. Eventually he just settles for putting his mouth under the tap. It hurts a bit to swallow, but Gardner hadn’t been aware just _how_ dry his mouth was, so it definitely helps. He stands under the faucet for maybe a minute before he decides to move on.

                It’s cold outside when he opens the front door, and for a moment he wonders if he should go back and look for a coat. He can’t remember for sure if he opened the hall closet, so there may still be something of his in there. But he’s already standing outside with the door locked—if that’s truly necessary—and he’s tired and at this point actually _very_ interested in eating something, so he just focuses on the walk ahead. The Bensons only live about a 5-minute walk away. He can do this.

                As Gardner turns away from the house, something catches his eye. The boat, still sitting in the driveway, as if nothing’s even changed. His parents kept promising him that one day they would take it on the water, one day they would _do_ something with it. But now it’s still here and they’re gone, and it seems that that’s never going to happen. Gardner’s always loved the boat. It has a bed below deck, and sometimes his parents would let him sleep out there, pretending that he really was on the water, an adventurer out at sea. It holds nice memories at least, even as Gardner fights down a bit of anger at the fact that they never kept their promise. He wonders if they left anything behind in cabin and resolves to check it out at some point.

                Right now he focuses on the road ahead. His nap definitely helped, but Gardner still feels tired, and the light-headed feeling isn’t helping too much. He just focuses on one foot in front of the other, and when his stomach growls he just tries to ignore it.

                The trip feels like it takes hours, but eventually Gardner finds himself standing in front of Calvin’s house. He can’t really see his watch in the dark, but he estimates it’s probably 10:45, and prays that’s not too late. His one saving grace is that at least it’s a Friday, so maybe they haven’t gone to bed too early.

                Gardner knocks on the door with his good hand and waits a few moments. He thinks he can see a light on inside, but after what feels like a few minutes, still no one has come to the door. He guesses he can’t exactly blame them for not wanting to see who’s at the door when it’s nearly 11 PM. Still, he tries again, a bit harder, and when that still doesn’t illicit results, he rings the doorbell.

                He’s about five seconds from collapsing onto the front step and just staying there for the rest of his life when finally someone comes to the door. It’s Calvin’s mom who answers, and she adopts an anxious expression when she sees him.

                “Oh, Gardner, hi sweetie,” she says, clearly trying for warmth but still sounding worried. “Are you alright?”

                Gardner can only imagine how he looks right now, but he’s certain it’s not alright. He glances down at his hand, and Mrs. Benson’s eyes follow.

                “Oh sweetheart, what happened to you?” She gently takes his arm and unwraps his hand, examining the damage. When she meets his eye again, the level of concern on her face makes Gardner tear up a little.

                Gardner isn’t really sure how to answer her question, and after a moment Mrs. Benson ushers him inside. “Please, come in,” she says, leading him to the kitchen table, where he numbly takes a seat. He’s working up to asking if she has anything to eat when she hurries out of the room, saying that she’ll go get some bandages and fix him up.

                While he waits, trying not to pass out but starting to feel very close—the walk really took a lot out of him, and it’s not like he had a ton to give—he stares at his hand, blinking every few seconds. While he’s distracted with that, he doesn’t notice Calvin enter the room.

                “Gardner?” he asks, concern colouring his voice.

                Gardner’s head jerks up, and he’s rewarded with spotted vision and nausea. Too fast, apparently.

                “What happened to you?”

                Gardner opens his mouth to respond, but he can’t bring himself to say anything. It all feels so real. It was _always_ real, of course, but sitting in this brightly lit kitchen, full of warmth and family and a lot of things he no longer has, and having to actually say, _out loud_ , what’s happened? It’s all just so much. So, Gardner just lets out a few choked little sobs and looks back down at his hand instead.

                Calvin is still hovering, clearly worried, but luckily Mrs. Benson returns at this point, carrying alcohol and bandages and Polysporin. She quickly gets to work tending to Gardner’s wounds, and no one says a word, the room quiet except for Gardner’s intake of breath at the sting of the alcohol.

                When his wound is properly bandaged, Mrs. Benson looks up at Gardner, and he feels like he has to face her. Calvin’s since taken a seat at the table, and he watches the two intently.

                “Gardner, sweetie, what’s happened?”

                Gardner starts to answer, but as simple as it is to say “my parents left me”, his head feels incredibly fuzzy, and he can’t organize his thoughts. Besides, if he gives her the answer, it will only lead to _so_ many more questions. He needs to eat something first. Drink something. Try to get himself back together.

                “Could I have something to drink, please? Maybe some juice?” he adds. He can’t think of where he’s remembering it from—not that it matters too much right now—but there’s a part of him that knows he should get some sugar in his body to make up for the blood loss.

                “Of course, hon. Is orange juice okay?”

                Gardner almost nods, and then thinks better of it. “Yes, that’s great.”

                “Is there anything else you’d like?” Mrs. Benson adds as she heads to the fridge. “We have some cookies.”

                Not exactly the best dinner, but better than nothing, so Gardner quickly gives his assent. “Yes, please.”

                While Mrs. Benson pours Gardner’s juice, Calvin watches him intently. Gardner keeps his eyes on his hand while he waits. He needs to drink something first, _eat_ something first, before he can do this. Even then, it’s iffy.

                “Here you go,” Mrs. Benson says, setting down a glass of orange juice and a plate of some store-bought cookies in front of Gardner. He immediately picks up the glass and drinks about half of it before starting in on a cookie.

                “So, Gardner,” Mrs. Benson starts. She seems a bit nervous to pose her question, and considering Gardner’s already brushed it off twice, he can’t blame her apprehension. He quickly finishes his cookie and starts on a second one, glancing up at her as he does. His head still feels clouded, but at least he feels more confident that he won’t pass out. That’s a start. “What exactly…” she trails off for a moment. “What happened to your hand?”

                Gardner sighs and takes a long sip of juice. “When I got home, after school, the house was empty. _Completely_ empty,” he adds. “Everything was gone, except for my stuff. Every trace of my parents had just disappeared.” Mrs. Benson’s eyes are wide with shock, and the concern on her face brings a few tears to Gardner’s eyes. He focuses back down on his hand. “So… I sat in my room, and I just felt… a _lot_ , and at one point I just got so mad, and my reflection was just so crazy, before I knew what was happening, I’d punched the mirror.”

                “They just _left_?” she asks, and Gardner can swear she has a hint of anger of her own in her voice.

                Gardner shrugs. He feels like his emotions are precariously balanced and he doesn’t want to get set off again. “I guess so,” is all he says in return, picking the chocolate chips out of a cookie and eating them.

                “Oh sweetheart.” Mrs. Benson stands and wraps her arms around Gardner. It’s a nice gesture, but it reminds him of his own mother, and soon he’s crying again. He’d thought for a moment that maybe he had no more than a few small tears left, but here it is, real, full-on ugly crying, once again, and he’s not sure if it’s going to stop—if it’s _ever_ going to stop, or if this is just his life from now on, a constant, drowning sadness that threatens to swallow him whole, intercut with periods of violent anger and the occasional trap of feeling calm—so he just leans into it, but he’s feeling so much, feeling _too_ much and he kind of just wants to sleep for the next 5 years, and then maybe after that he’ll finally be okay.

                Except that he won’t be. He’ll _never_ be okay because his parents clearly don’t love him and how do you get over that? The only people in the world who are always supposed to be there for you, to love you unconditionally and to take care of you and they didn’t want to do that and now they’re gone and how is Gardner ever meant to do anything more than cry about that?

                Gardner’s breathing is becoming more and more laboured. He doesn’t feel like he can catch his breath, feels like the more he tries the less he’s able to, until eventually he’s just going to suffocate. He’s acutely aware that he’s probably hyperventilating, maybe having some sort of panic attack, and he needs to get a grip, but he just can’t do it, and he’s mad at himself for not being able to, but he _can’t_. He can’t fix this.

                “ _Gardner._ ” He’s suddenly aware of Mrs. Benson’s voice, breaking through his sobs. “Gardner, please, deep breaths,” she coaches. He tries, but he’s still not sure if he’s getting there or not. The room suddenly feels so tiny, like it’s closing in around him. “You just need to slow your breathing,” she tells him. She no longer has her arms around Gardner but is now kneeling in front of him. She demonstrates how to take a proper breath, and Gardner attempts to follow along. After a few of these he’s back to breathing normally, though he hasn’t exactly stopped crying. Mrs. Benson stays there, rubbing his back, for however long it takes him to actually stop crying, if not for good then at least for a little bit. Then she stands up and looks down at him. “Do you want me to make you anything? Did you have dinner?” Gardner shakes his head. “Alright…” she glances back at the kitchen, searching for something. “Um… what do you think of a sandwich? Would that be nice? I could do ham and cheese, or peanut butter and jam.”

                “Ham and cheese sounds nice,” Gardner tells her, and she smiles.

                “Great,” she says. “And I’ll get you some more orange juice too,” she adds, grabbing the empty cup before heading back to the fridge.

                “Gardner?” Calvin asks. Gardner had almost forgotten that he was even there.

                “Yeah?”

                “I’m sorry. That’s a really shitty thing to have happen. You don’t deserve this.”

                “Thank you,” Gardner says. It’s a nice bit of reassurance to have. Although at least if he had done something to deserve it, he might understand why it was happening, be able to trace it to something he had actively done to ruin things. As is, the idea that it wasn’t his fault, that nothing he could have done would’ve stopped this… it just makes him feel so powerless.

                They sit in silence after that. Calvin seems a bit uncomfortable with the whole situation, and Gardner honestly prefers not to talk about it right now. Or maybe ever. Who knows? Maybe one day he’ll be able to talk about it a lighter, detached sort of way. But not right now.

                “Here we go,” Mrs. Benson calls, placing a sandwich in front of Gardner, along with his glass of orange juice.

                “Thank you,” he tells her, taking a bite of the sandwich. For a second, he kind of feels like his stomach is going to reject it, but he chews slowly and he’s slowly able to kind of ride out that feeling of sickness.

                “So, Gardner, of course you’ll take the guest room tonight, but I just want to let you know that you are welcome to stay with us as _long_ as you like. Or else… I don’t know if you have any family you’d like to me to call?”

                Gardner shakes his head and takes another bite. “It was really just me and my parents. All of my other family’s out of state, and I don’t even really know them.” Gardner keeps his voice as steady as he can, and has to admit he’s pretty proud of how calmly he manages that information.

                “Then you’ll live with us, of course,” Mrs. Benson says brightly. Gardner isn’t sure how he feels about that statement—he _really_ doesn’t want to be a burden, and especially to make them deal with him just because his parent didn’t want to—but he figures that’s a conversation for when it’s not almost midnight. He thinks back to his parents’ boat. If worst comes to worst, maybe he could just live there. He likes boats. Of course, he’s not exactly sure if the reminder of them would be more comforting or heart-wrenching. Another conversation for later, he supposes. For now, Gardner just nods and focuses on his sandwich. He’s felt tired for a while, but it suddenly hits him that he’s exhausted, the side effect of feeling so many emotions all in one day.

                “I’m sorry that this happened to you, Gardner,” Mrs. Benson adds. She sweeps a bit of Gardner’s hair out of his face; the bangs are constantly falling in his eyes. “But I want you to know that we are here for you, alright? We’re going to take care of you. You’ll be okay.”

                Yet another tear slides down Gardner’s cheek, but it seems to be all his body can manage at the moment. He nods his appreciation to Mrs. Benson and finishes his sandwich. All he wants now is to sleep.

                Calvin guides Gardner upstairs to the guest bedroom, and he simply pulls off his socks and jeans before collapsing into bed.

                Gardner was worried at first that as soon as he got into bed he’d no longer be tired, but instead forced to lay awake all night, running through all the ramifications of what’s just happened, what his life is like now. Mercifully, however, that doesn’t seem to be an issue, and he’s asleep within five minutes, though his dreams are confusing, an unexplained sense of worry looming over them, and they jerk him awake every few hours, though he quickly falls back asleep each time. It may not be the best sleep he’s ever had—or anywhere _close_ —but it’s something, at least, and his body seems pretty grateful for that when he finally pulls himself out of bed the next day, the bedside clock announcing that it’s around noon.

                When Gardner enters the Benson’s kitchen, he finds Mrs. Benson sitting alone at the table, drinking some tea. As soon as she notices Gardner she jumps up, offering to make him some breakfast, whatever he’d like. Gardner doesn’t want to put her out too much, so he just asks for cereal, and she returns a moment later with a bowl and some milk.

                “So, Cal and his father had to go out for a little bit, but I thought after you had your breakfast that the two of us could get gather the rest of your things?”

                “Sounds good,” Gardner replies, even though there are about a million different reasons that the proposal does not, in fact, sound that good. Namely that the idea of facing that house again makes his heart start to speed up, but Gardner does still need his clothes, and he wouldn’t feel right about Mrs. Benson buying him new ones.

                “Great,” Mrs. Benson gives Gardner a bright smile. She really is the sweetest woman, and Gardner’s beyond thankful for that.

 

                After Gardner finishes his breakfast and changes into a different outfit, he and Mrs. Benson make their way back to his house. Or his _former_ house, Gardner mentally corrects himself. Each of them carries a few moving boxes with them to help pack up his stuff. It’s been decided that they’ll remove the furniture once Mr. Benson is available to help them, but since there’s already furniture in the Benson’s guest room, Gardner tells Mrs. Benson just to do whatever she wants with the old stuff. She seems sad at this dismissal of his belongings, but eventually formulates a plan to sell the furniture and give him whatever money they get, so that he can have a little bit of cash for himself. Gardner likes that idea a lot, liking the small amount of control it gives him in his own life, a little bit of independence to take care of himself.

                As Gardner makes his way through the house, he can just _feel_ Mrs. Benson’s shock behind him, the way that she keeps looking around at the empty space. While they don’t need to pass through the living room to reach Gardner’s room, she wanders in anyway, and Gardner can literally _feel_ the outrage radiating off of her as she takes in the pictures on the wall. After taking them in for a moment she starts pulling them all down, snapshots of Gardner throughout his life so far. Gardner when he was maybe 8 or 9, dressed in a baseball jersey and beaming up at the camera, a few of his teeth missing; Gardner as a baby, wearing a onesie and cuddling a stuffed bear; Gardner at the beginning of this school year, hair falling across his forehead and covering one of his eyes. She carefully places them all into a box before moving back onto their mission.

                “You know…” Gardner starts nervously. “You really don’t have to take those.”

                Mrs. Benson gives him a sad look. “I’d like to, Gardner. Besides, if you’re going to be staying with us, it only feels right to have a few reminders of you throughout the house. Make you a real part of the family.”

                Gardner works very hard not to start crying at that, and just barely manages to succeed. He’s _so_ sick of crying.

                Mrs. Benson audibly gasps when they reach Gardner’s room, despite the fact that he’d tried to prepare her beforehand for the state it’d been left in. Broken glass glitters in the light pouring in from the window, some of it smudged and stained with his blood, which has since dried into flaky brown spots dotting the floor and the desk. Gardner’s hand aches a bit as he thinks about what happened there the day before.

                “Yeah, I’m sorry about the mess,” he says.

                “It’s okay, sweetheart. I understand,” she tells him, and she kneels down to start cleaning up the mess. She’d packed a little hand broom and dustpan when Gardner had mentioned the glass earlier, and she uses it to clear the floor.

                “I can do it, if you want,” Gardner offers. “It was my fault, after all.”

                Mrs. Benson smiles at him and stands up. “Thank you, sweetie. It is a bit rough on my knees.” She hands him the broom and dustpan. “I’ll get started on the closet, alright?”

                Gardner nods, and sets to work sweeping up the glass. Normally he might find it to be rather boring work, but right now the simplicity is calming, and even the scrape of bits of glass against the floor is somewhat soothing.

                Once Gardner’s cleaned up the glass the best he can, he dumps the shards into a garbage bag that Mrs. Benson brought with her and starts placing books into a box. By the time he’s finished, Mrs. Benson has managed to carefully fold and pack all of his clothes, and has started packing away some of his miscellaneous belongings. The total comes to about 5 boxes, none of them all that big. It’s a little bit sad to look at his life that way, narrowed down to 5 small boxes. He grabs a box and starts carrying it down to the car, trying to ignore the thought.

                Once everything’s packed up and Gardner’s sitting in the car, he notices the boat again, still sitting in the driveway. “Oh!” He turns to Mrs. Benson. “The boat. Um…” He’s suddenly a bit nervous to ask the question, in case Mrs. Benson doesn’t _want_ a giant boat sitting in her driveway. Gardner briefly considers if it would be a good idea to ask her to help him sell it, but as nice as the money would be, he thinks he wants the boat itself more. It’s a reminder of his parents’ broken promises, yes, but it’s also got a lot of good memories behind it. “Do you think we could move it to your house too?”

                “It’s important to you?” she asks. She seems a bit shocked.

                Gardner nods. “Very.”

                “Then of course, sweetie. We’ll get it later when we come back for the furniture.”

                Gardner smiles. “Thank you.”

               

                Gardner settles in pretty easily after that. The Bensons are incredibly kind, and basically treat him like another son. It’s nice to live with Calvin, too. They’re both only children, and the feeling of having a brother is incredible to both of them.

                Gardner still wakes up from awful dreams some nights, confused about the exact content, but feeling incredibly unsettled. Overall though, things are going rather well. He feels peaceful here, and accepted. It’s still hard, sometimes, thinking about his parents, how they left him. But it’s getting a lot easier. He even talks about them sometimes with Calvin, reminiscing on things they did together, and he mostly doesn’t cry anymore. Occasionally it gets to him, usually sneaking up when he least expects it, so that one minute he’s fine and the next he’s crying so hard he can barely breathe, but the Bensons are very supportive, and he’s getting better at calming himself down.

                Gardner waits about three months before he finally goes out to the boat. The cabin is just how he remembered it, with a little kitchen area, some seating, a bed, and a few random books lining the shelves. It’s nice in there, and it reminds him of how things used to be, when he would sleep out there in the warmer weather. Gardner hasn’t realized how much he missed that until he’s sitting on the bed, staring around at the achingly familiar surroundings. As grateful as he is to the Bensons for taking him in, he has to say admit that he hasn’t exactly gotten used to his new room. He’s decorated it with the things from his old room, but it just doesn’t feel the same. It doesn’t feel like it’s _his._

                This boat, on the other hand, _is_ his. A place that really feels his own.

                After that first visit, Gardner starts bringing some of his stuff out to the boat, slowly filling it with his belongings. He leaves a few things behind in his bedroom inside, but the majority of his belongings end up the boat, including maybe half his wardrobe.

                Gardner also starts sleeping in the boat more, rather than staying inside the house. The first time Mrs. Benson realizes this she seems a bit alarmed, but Gardner tells her that it helps him sleep better, and as much as she seems to want to argue it, she lets him have this. People have been gentler around him lately. He’s not sure how to feel about that, but in the case of being allowed to sleep in the boat, he decides to just embrace it.

                It takes a while, rebuilding, and healing. But the Bensons are there for him, kind and caring and embracing him with their love. And eventually, Gardner starts to think that he might just be okay. Maybe.


End file.
